


Stone Guardian

by Cursedkaze



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gargoyles (TV)
Genre: Gargoyles AU, Gen, stillbirth mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 22:54:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15828597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cursedkaze/pseuds/Cursedkaze
Summary: Thomas Wayne had thought of the gargoyle statue as nothing more than a curiosity, yet another thing an ancestor had purchased and left in storage. He had thought it would make a good gift for Martha, who enjoyed the strange, to take her mind off things. He had not planned on the statue coming to life, how could he, magic wasn't real...was it?A Gargoyles AU





	Stone Guardian

Thomas Wayne grips the white dust sheet and sweeps it aside.

“What do you think my love?” He asks.

Martha Wayne raises a hand delicately to her mouth.

“Oh darling, he’s beautiful!” She says.

The statue depicts a figure partway between a bat and a human, with wide webbed wings outstretched behind it and an impressive set of fangs bared in a feral snarl. A thin tail bristling with spikes lashes behind it in a frozen figure eight and the one hand outstretched to slash is tipped with long claws instead of nails. Its clawed feet grip the ground with clear tension in the muscles of each leg. Around its waist is a belt seemingly made of pouches holding up a simple pair of brief-like shorts. Its other hand reaches inside one of the pouches and the sculptor has captured the way fabric has bent around the creature’s fingers. Two skinny straight horns at the side of its head jut up like bat’s ears. In the years past some vandal has taken a knife and carved a rough outline of a bat into the gargoyle’s chest. Aside from that the statue is astonishingly lifelike. The sculptor seems to have captured it frozen mid-battle with some unseen enemy.

“The sculptor’s name has been regrettably lost to the ages.” Thomas says and rests a hand on one stone shoulder. “He has been buried in the family vaults for hundreds of years, an ancestor probably picked him up for a song at the auction house because of the damage. It will probably do him good to get out in the fresh air for a change.”

“He’s magnificent.” Martha leans up to kiss her husband’s cheek. “Our very own gargoyle.”

“I know how much you admire Gotham architecture. I thought you’d like a stone guardian for the household.” Thomas says and returns the kiss. “Some workmen will be around tomorrow to attach him to the roof but I thought you’d appreciate the chance to admire him up close.”

“You know me well.” Martha says with a small smile.

She rests her hand on the gargoyle’s outstretched one.

“I love it.” She says firmly. “Thank you.”

“Nothing but the best for you my love.” Thomas says and kisses her fingertips. Martha smiles.

“It’s just a shame we have to leave so soon.” She says. “I do hope he won’t be lonely.”

Thomas smiles.

“Are you thinking of starting a collection my love?” He asks. “A whole family of gargoyles spread out like garden gnomes.”

“You have to admit it would be a magnificent sight.” Martha replies with an easy smile. “Picture a whole...Oh what would be the word? A flight of gargoyles or a rockery of gargoyles?”

“A gruesomeness of gargoyles.” Thomas suggests.

“Thomas!” Martha laughs. “Oh, that’s much too coarse for our handsome protector.”

“Oh hush, you’re going to make me jealous.” Thomas kisses her cheek. “And we have a party to prepare for.”

“Yes, yes.” Martha sighs. “I have had my fun.” She kisses his cheek in return. Taking his hand, she leads him from the sitting room to the bed room to get ready.

The statue of the gargoyle stands under the light of the setting sun for the first time in a thousand years. Slowly but surely the light through the open window fades as the burning orb sinks below the horizon. The golden light sweeps down the stony skin, fading, fading until the last of the light disappears and night falls.

At the edge of the gouged mark in the gargoyle’s chest a crack slowly lengthens. It spiders out, growing larger and deeper with a crackle of breaking stone. Long frozen muscles move beneath their shell of stone, groaning and cracking the stone skin. Crumbs of stone drop to the carpet, then shards as for the first time in a thousand years stone becomes flesh. The long tail cracks like a whip, shedding flakes of dry, dead stone as it twists back into life. Arched wings break free of the last clinging traces of stone and beat down, scattering the dust. Claws flex and swipe at the empty air. The carved belt and its contents relax and become cloth. Finally the stone breaks from the arched fierce fangs and clears the gargoyle’s throat.

A long, loud, primal scream bursts from the darkened throat and it is a heart-breaking sound of absolute loss and anger strong enough to rattle the floorboards and rise through the floors to the bedroom.

Thomas looks up from his dressing room mirror. Martha pauses in putting in an earring.

“What the hell is that sound?” Thomas snaps as he snaps his cufflinks shut.

He frowns and turns to the door, already striding forwards to confront the problem.

“Leave it alone darling.” Martha sighs. “Alfred can deal with it.”

“I will only be a moment.” Thomas reassures her as he takes his great-grandfather’s cane in hand. The aged hardwood is as firm as steel and the metal knob at the end has a reassuring weight to it. “Wait here my love, it might be dangerous.”

“Not a chance.” Martha slides off the bed and stepping to her husband’s side. She intertwines her fingers with his.

Thomas sighs with a soft smile.

“You wouldn’t think I would let you have an adventure without me, would you?” Martha says.

She plucks a few hatpins from her jewellery box. They are beautiful gleaming things chased in gold and decorated with pearls and gems. Martha had quite a collection, as she said it was nice to have a socially appropriate excuse to carry a six-inch spike with you.

“I swear, you are the most dangerous thing in this household.” Thomas says fondly.

“And don’t you forget it.” Martha says and kisses his cheek. “Someone has to look after you.”

The pair make their careful way towards the noise. It is a deep, melancholy sound. Alfred meets them at the foot of the stairs, already loading shells into the shotgun.

“Your statue appears to be screaming Sir.” He says dryly.

“Thank you Alfred.” Thomas says as he pushes open the door to the living room.

There standing in the center of the floor is a monstrous creature.

Its skin is the melancholy grey of a Gotham skyscraper but its hands and feet and the top of its head are armored with thicker, overlapping black scales, giving it the appearance of a black knight’s helmet. Its slit eyes _glow._ The creature growls. It is a primal sound that bypasses years of evolution and tells the hindbrain that the smart monkey thing to do is be somewhere else.

Thomas Wayne gets a glimpse of blood on its chest, pouring from a deeply gouged wound, before its dark wings are twisting in their sockets. The thumb claws lock together as the dark skin of the wing itself drapes over each shoulder and hides its chest from sight. The end result looks very much like the creature is wearing a leather cape made of its own wings.

It bares its fangs at him and Thomas recognizes something in its expression. It’s a mixture between wary animal and scared human. There is a harsh metallic click as Alfred cocks his shotgun.

“Please step away from the creature Master Thomas.” He asks and the creature narrows its eyes.

“Wizard!” The creature hisses.

Its long tail cracks like a whip and something impacts the shotgun, hard. It’s torn from Alfred’s hands and falls to the carpet. Three black spines, curved like a boomerang with a crescent-shaped notch at the top, have cut into the metal and block the barrels. As the creature’s tail stills Thomas notes it has three spines less than before. New stubby peaks of re-growing spine are already disturbing the dark scaly skin.

“No magic here.” It growls. “Or the next ones will hit you, not the staff.”

“You speak English.” Thomas notes. It makes about as much sense as anything else that has happened tonight. He takes a step towards it.

The creature takes a step backwards and its blood speckles the carpet underneath it. It looks lost and afraid in an unfamiliar environment. Its tail twitches as if unsure if it should fling any further spines.

“Stay back.” It demands.

“I’m a doctor.” Thomas tells it. “Show me the wound.”

The creature looks confused.

“Doctor?” It asks. “I…am not wounded.”

“I’m a physician, a _healer._ ” Thomas clarifies, realizing the creature is having trouble with the word. “And you’re bleeding all over the carpet.”

The creature reluctantly raises its wings and lets him get a good look at the wound. It’s bleeding deeply but he can make out where the slashes mark the chest muscles, as if someone had taken a sharp knife and carved a specific pattern into them. Or if someone had gouged the mark into a creature turned to stone and when they turned back…

“I’ve seen worse.” Thomas tells it. He’d treated plenty of deliberate mutilations before and had seen more knife wounds than he had hot dinners. “Sit down so I can fix you up.”

The creature snarls uncertainly, one grey lip raising to show a flash of fang, before carefully taking a few steps forwards. Its clawed feet knead nervously at the carpet. It looks at him for a moment with its eyes no longer actively glowing. It looks lost.

“…Very well.” It says and folds its wings behind its back. “My life is in your hands Physician.”

With care it sits down on the chaise-longue and tucks its wings over the back of the chair. Its long tail lashes around one chair-leg like a serpent. It’s the only sign the creature gives that it is uncomfortable, its expression is stone faced.

“Alfred, get me the black medicine bag, I’m about to do some comparative anatomy.” He says and steps towards the creature. “Martha, I need some cloth to stem the bleeding.”

“I never liked these curtains anyways.” Martha says airily and goes to pull them down.

Thomas grabs a nearby lamp and drags it closer to the chaise-longue to get a good look at his unusual patient. The creature turns its head away from the bright light. Nocturnal, probably.

“Your blood isn’t poisonous, is it?” he asks the creature.

“No.” The creature says. “However, I would prefer you not to drink it.”

“Noted.” Thomas replies. “I hope you’ll extend my family the same courtesy.”

Thomas isn’t sure but he thinks he sees the faint ghost of a smile flicker on the creature’s face.

“Here you are darling.” Martha says and passes him a ball of wadded up curtains.

He uses it to mop up some of the blood and get a better look at the area. As he suspected the gouges that mark the shape of a bat are thick and deep, but thankfully not enough to breach the chest cavity and cause a sucking wound. The flight muscles have formed a tough, protective layer that is as good as armor. Thomas would bet the creature could probably take a handgun bullet to the chest and still come out on top.

He applies pressure to the wound and pays no mind to the way the blood seeps into the cloth of what was formerly his living room curtains.

“Your bag Sir.” Alfred hands him the black waterproofed bag he used for medical emergencies.

“Put pressure on this.” Thomas orders and the creature holds the curtain ball in place with one clawed hand.

Thomas opens his bag and goes through his medicines. The black bag contained the widest range of medical aids, thankfully he had time to restock it between disasters.

“Give me your other hand.” He orders. The creature does so. “It would be pointless to ask if you have any allergies. I’m going to test you on several things to make sure you’re not going to have a reaction.”

“A reaction?” The creature asks and tilts its head curiously.

“I want to be sure my medicine won’t harm you.” Thomas tells it. “I don’t know how different you are to a human internally.”

“Humans and Gargoyles have similar bodies.” It says. “Besides, I will heal when I sleep.”

“I don’t want to accidentally poison you, then your sleep might be the last thing you ever do.” Thomas says and applies a swab to the gargoyle’s forearm. “Tell me if you have any discomfort; any burning, tingling, itching or numbness.” He lists. “And don’t stop putting pressure on that.”

The gargoyle flexes its forearm curiously.

“I feel nothing.” It tells him.

“Give it time.” Thomas warns. “I want to be sure before I waste good medicine on you.”

The creature grunts.

Thomas makes sure the bundled curtain is stemming the bleeding and waits to be sure there is no reaction before he continues. The creature waits in a solemn silence, the very tip of its tail slowly twitching. Thomas takes the opportunity to bottle a few samples of its blood for later analysis and make a closer study of its anatomy. The wings that extend behind it are bat-like, ribbed with long fingers of bone, and webbed with skin the same black as its thicker scaling. They extend down to the creature’s waist where it blends into the spined tail. Three new spines are already replacing the ones it flung, it looks less like they are being grown than some internal stock is ‘reloading’ the gargoyle’s natural weapon.

The creature’s tail pauses its twitching as its curiosity overcomes its sullenness.

“...Where am I?” The creature asks him.

“Gotham.” Thomas tells it.

“England? I have been taken far.” It rumbles.

“America.” Thomas informs it.

The creature pauses, flicking one half spread wing with surprise.

“America…” It appears to ponder.

When the allotted time passes with no ill reaction Thomas is reassured that he can at least use the dressings he has rather than having to sacrifice another room’s curtains to make fresh bandages. He taps the back of the gargoyle’s hand to get it to lift it and removes the blood-soaked wad of curtains. Dried blood cracks on the creature’s bare chest but it is congealing. Good. Thomas lays out the tools he is going to use.

“This is going to hurt.” Thomas warns before liberally dousing the wound with disinfectant.

The gargoyle hisses and scrambles back on the chaise-longue.

“Poison!” It hisses and flares its wings defensively.

“I did warn you.” Thomas replies mildly, even though the creature’s claws are long, sharp, and awfully close to his throat.

“Why would a healing draught burn?” It demands with its eyes glowing and fangs bared.

“It’s killing the invisible demons that make a wound fester.” Thomas explains to it.

The creature growls.

“I will fight these invisible demons.” It says and balls its fists.

“You can’t, they’re too small.” Martha tells it. “Don’t be a baby.”

The creature looks confused.

“…I’m not a baby.” It says plaintively.

It looks at Alfred for assurance who has to try hard to not laugh.

“She’s telling the truth.” He says.

The gargoyle grunts and settles back down reluctantly.

“I suppose wizards must know the ways of demons.” It says begrudgingly.

Martha has to bite her knuckles to keep from laughing and possibly offending the creature. It winces but otherwise remains still as Thomas stitches the wound closed. It is going to leave a thick, gnarled scar but muscular function won't be impaired. The creature stoically accepts the application of an antiseptic and twitches its wings out of the way to allow Thomas to wrap bandages around its chest.

“Try standing.” Thomas asks.

The creature carefully gets to its feet, trying not to reopen the wound with strenuous activity. It rolls its shoulders to adjust to the feeling of the tight bandages.

“Not interfering with wing function?” Thomas asks.

The gargoyle fully extends its wings, massive, batlike, and black as the night, with a soft ‘whoosh’ of displaced air. It flexes them, making sure the bandages aren’t limiting its range of movement. When it is satisfied it folds them back into the resting ‘cape’ position.

“No, my wings work fine.” It says. “Thank you.”

It reaches into one of the pockets that forms its belt and pulls out a gold coin. It proffers it and Thomas shakes his head.

“I don’t need paying…” He starts to say.

“One moment.” Martha interrupts him and intercepts the coin. She holds it to the light and it gleams. “Just as I thought, this is solid gold.” She says. “I’ve only seen these in museums, they tended to get looted and melted down, you know how things go. It’s probably worth a quarter of a million to a collector. Here you go dear.” She returns the coin to the creature. “Have any more coins?” She asks it.

“Some silver, some bronze.” It rumbles.

“Give them here, I’ll get them invested for you.” She offers. “We can get you some better clothes at least, maybe a modest estate...”

“Martha!” Thomas sounds scandalized.

“Honestly Thomas, this is probably the _least_ shady business deal going on in Gotham right now.” Martha says with a small roll of her eyes. “Besides, I might be interested in purchasing one or two to donate to the Museum.”

“You have been more than kind.” The gargoyle says and hands over a handful of coins. Though they must be ancient they look as good as new. “I owe my life to you my Lady, thus I pay a tithe.”

“Good.” Thomas says. “Now what are you doing in my living room?”

The creature looks at him blankly.

“Surely _you_ are the one who knows that.” It points out.

Martha can’t hold back the laugh that bursts from her lips, even when both the creature and her husband turn to look at her.

“Oh don’t look so shocked, he’s right you know.” She says and turns to the gargoyle. “What’s your name dear?” She asks it.

The gargoyle’s tail twitches defensively at the question.

“Gargoyles have no names.” It tells her simply. “I do not exist as an individual, I am a symbol, the vigilant protector, the vengeance of the night given mortal form. Someday, I will die. The ideals I fight for must not.”

“It sounds lonely.” Martha says.

“…It is.” The gargoyle replies and twitches one wing. “But it is my duty. I am a gargoyle. Gargoyles guard their castle. We protect the people.” The creature looks away. “Or we did once…” It says softly and, though it hasn’t become any less intimidating a sadness passes over its feral features.

“We?” Martha asks it.

The gargoyle quickly turns away.

“My clan, my _family_ were killed.” It says simply. “Shattered while they slept as stone.” It raises its fingers to its bandaged chest. “If a gargoyle is broken as stone…They do not return to flesh. I tried to save them. I was turned to stone for a thousand years, and kept as a _trophy_. If any survived the massacre…They are long dead by now.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Martha says and rests a comforting hand on its grey shoulder. “You can stay here as long as you want.”

“Martha!” Thomas protests.

“Where else is he going to go Thomas?” Martha argues back. “Besides, you gave him to me when he was a statue, which means I have a legal responsibility to look after him. The coins will be enough to cover rent in perpetuity.”

“I would appreciate it if you consulted me before offering our home to a stranger.” Thomas sighs. “But yes, you can stay while you get reacclimatized. You’re wounded, and temporally displaced, I’m not going to turn you out on the streets.”

“Come on, let’s get you some juice.” Martha links arms with the gargoyle and starts to tug it out of the room.

The winged creature looks incredibly confused, as do most people Martha has talked to for an extended period of time.

“Juice?” It asks.

“You’ve lost blood, dear.” Martha tells it. “Fluids and sugar will do you good.”

The confused creature nods along.

“Should I inform the Elliots you will be late to tonight’s soirée?” Alfred asks.

“We should get our new guest settled in first.” Martha says. “Tell them we’re not coming.”

“The Elliots won’t like that.” Thomas points out.

“I don’t like _them_ , darling.” Martha says.

“The feeling is mutual my love. Try not to confuse the poor thing too much.” He warns and Martha cheerfully leads the winged creature to the kitchens.

Perhaps he should be more worried for her safety with a creature that resembles a vampire, but if the force of her personality didn’t completely overwhelm the gargoyle, Martha’s preferred shoe manufacturer took the ‘stiletto’ in stiletto heels seriously. The creature was probably in more danger; when Martha made up her mind to be kind to someone she would let nothing stop her.

Thomas packs the remaining medicines back in his bag and takes a mental stock of what needs to be replaced in the morning. He gathers the bloodied curtains into one pile.

“These should be burned to be safe.” He tells Alfred. “Remind me to order new curtains tomorrow, restock the medical kit and apologize properly to the Elliots.”

The butler nods.

“I will get cracking on these carpets, bloodstains are the devil to get out once they’re dried.” He says.

“I know.” Thomas replies.

He grabs the bloodied curtains and carries them to the incinerator, pausing and wrinkling his nose before adding his shirt and jacket to the pile. The creature’s blood has seeped through the sleeves of his jacket onto his shirt and he doesn’t want to risk washing it. Who knows what lingering effects gargoyle blood had on cloth? Thomas’s hands pointedly don’t tremble as he flicks the switch and watches the flames spring to life. They burn brightly in a sliver of golden light through the slit in the black metal door.

A ‘real’ gargoyle, not a stone statue, was in his house. This provided an unparalleled opportunity for studying a non-human humanoid up close. His collection of anatomy texts was extensive, however few covered anything like the anatomy of a gargoyle and none of them were considered accurate. The urge to observe this creature from the detached point-of-view of a researcher examining a test subject was strong, but Martha wouldn’t allow it. She was always the people person, Thomas thinks fondly. Socializing did not come easy to him and making friends even less so. Still he was a doctor, he had something of a Duty of Care towards this patient. His Hippocratic Oath wouldn’t allow him to let the gargoyle come to harm certainly. Even after its chest wound had healed it was a traveler adrift, not in space but in time. What could it tell him? What secrets could it uncover? It is a good thing they are not going to the party, Thomas thinks as he dumps the ashes and heads back to the kitchen. He would loathe to miss the opportunity to study a living gargoyle up close because of some vapid socialite’s babbling gossip.

Martha has set up the creature with a glass and the pitcher of orange juice they used for breakfast. The gargoyle nurses his glass of juice like it is alcohol. Thomas sees why, even though Martha seems to be utterly absorbed in explaining the workings of an internal combustion engine, she always tops off the glass before the creature can fully drain it.

“Keeping up so far?” Thomas asks the creature as he takes a seat at the table.

It turns its eyes towards him.

“In my time your cart exploding was considered a negative thing.” It says solemnly.

“I can’t imagine the horses would take kindly to it.” Thomas replies.

“Well we have to move with the times, literally in some cases.” Martha replies airily. “Juice, darling?”

Thomas shakes his head.

“I thought we could order dinner in tonight, to save Alfred the trouble of making something on such short notice.” He says.

Martha laughs.

“Don’t let him hear you say that, he’ll take it as a challenge.” She says and lays a gentle hand on the creature’s arm. “Do you eat human food dear?” She asks the grey skinned creature.

It nods but its tail curls tightly the chair leg in discomfort.

“In my time animals were not permitted to eat with their masters.” It rumbles.

Martha’s lip curls in disgust.

“How positively beastly.” She says. “You’re a patient and a guest, you eat with us dear.”

The winged creature looks at her and blinks its pale blue eyes.

“You are a very strange woman, my Lady.” It says.

She laughs.

“If I had a dollar for every time I heard that, I would buy another manor.” She tells him. “You can call me Martha, dear, and this is Thomas.” She gestures to her husband.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Thomas offers a hand to shake.

The gargoyle takes it, looking confused, and drops to one knee in the pose of a knight before a king.

“My Lord.” It says with a respectful bow of its head.

Martha giggles.

“Look at you, a real gallant knight of the night.” She says.

“Knight?” It asks, pronouncing the word ka-nicked.

Martha nods.

“Yes, very noble.” She says, as if grey-skinned gargoyles were normal houseguests. “Hm, I feel like Italian for dinner tonight, I’ll put in an order.”

"...I hope you are talking about the country of origin of the food." The gargoyle says carefully. "And not consuming an Italian person."

Martha laughs.

"Yes dear, don't worry." She says with a smile. "We're not vampires."

“It seems a long way to go for food.” The gargoyle rumbles.

“Not as far as it seems.” Martha says with a smile. “Do sit down darling, I’ll order the usual.”

She stands and heads to the phone mounted in the kitchen wall. She dials the number of her favorite Italian takeaway from memory. The gargoyle turns curious eyes towards her and she holds her hands up for silence.

“Hello Elsie, it’s me again.” She chatters cheerfully to the person on the other side of the call. “Tommy and I are having a night in and what-do-you-know we had an unexpected guest show up! Can I get the usual, plus an extra #13 with another garlic bread and put a happy face on it? Thanks dear, you’re a gem. Tell me how did things go with the exam? That’s good to hear. I knew you could do it! Great, thanks, you have a nice night too.” She puts down the receiver. “It'll be thirty minutes darling.” She tells Thomas. "Think of it as a magic message spell." She tells the gargoyle.

Martha returns to the table and gracefully takes a seat.

“Why don’t you tell us a bit more about yourself while we're waiting?” She suggests. “I'm sure you’re full of fascinating stories!”

“...Not really.” The gargoyle says.

“This all must be terribly confusing to you.” Thomas adds. “Tell us how you got turned to stone, and we will tell you how you got here.”

“...A wizard did it.” The gargoyle says bluntly, clearly not wanting to talk about it.

“And I bought a statue.” Thomas replies, clearly unimpressed. “In detail please.”

 “Take as long as you need dear.” Martha adds.

The creature breathes out a soft sigh and its gaze falls to the tablecloth.

“Very well...” It intones and begins to tell the story.

It had been the darkest point of what was now called the Dark Ages.

Gargoyles had lived in the cliffs since before the humans came, looking for a secure site to build their castle. An agreement was made that the gargoyles would watch from their cliff roost for danger from the sea and aid in the defense of their territory. It had been an uneasy peace; the gargoyles were fearsome, but the night held many terrors. The gargoyle’s clan had been monster hunters, patrolling the night for the creatures that preyed on humanity and saving the people from them. However skilled they had been at fighting monsters they had no defense against the ones that wore human skin.

A learned magic user, a dark mage, had come to the castle under the cover of day. He had charmed the humans of the castle with silver-tongued words, then betrayed them and destroyed them with poisons. When they lay dying in the courtyard the dark mage had used the deaths as a sacrifice to fuel a dark summoning. He had called forth shadowy soldiers of black magic, and before the sun set, they had breached the walls of the rookery and broken the gargoyles as they slept as stone.

The gargoyle had been on patrol and when the night fell he had returned from their watchtower to the castle to find his clan slain. The mage had taken the castle as his own; he had offered the survivor a choice, to serve him and live or join his clan in death. The gargoyle had chosen to fight to the death.

The gargoyle keeps his voice level, almost detached, as he describes the rookery where the eggs were kept filled with nothing but broken shells, though Martha gasped and covered her mouth in horror. Thomas notes the creature’s hands balling into fists, squeezing tighter and tighter until its clawed nails cut into its palms. Clearly the gargoyle is bearing wounds other than the physical. It seems to be a strongly physical creature, no doubt the sensation of being unable to act to save the ones it loved is traumatizing to it.

The gargoyle had still been fighting when the mage had cursed him to sleep as stone for a thousand years. The last thing he heard was the mage ordering a shadow soldier to carve the sign of Barbatros into the chest of his new trophy, and the last thing he saw was the shimmer of the rising sun on the horizon over the lifeless rubble that had been his family.

Thomas rests a hand on its shoulder. Its fingers uncurl, just enough for Thomas to see the faint trickle of blood against its grey skin. Psychology was not his field of expertise, but Thomas knows the signs of someone gravely wounded and trying to hide it. Being unable to act to protect the ones it loved must have been traumatizing for the beast. Thomas can’t imagine what it must be like to be frozen, helpless, and knowing you were unable to save ones you loved. He hopes he never has to experience it.

“Poor dear.” Martha says with feeling.

Martha wraps her arms around it, they barely meet around the middle. One of its wings twitches in surprise, as if the creature is unused to being touched, before it rests a tentative hand on her shoulder.

“There, there.” Martha tells it. “You’re safe now.”

The creature looks up at him with questioning eyes and Thomas nods. The creature turns back to Martha and carefully rests its other hand on her back, returning the hug as gently as it could.

“…Thank you.” It says quietly. “I...am used to being alone.”

“You don’t have to be alone anymore.” Martha says.

Thomas sighs internally. That was Martha for you, always getting attached to waifs and strays, the stranger and more unloved the better. Once she found a cause she tended to overcommit to a frightening degree. Her bleeding heart should by rights get her into more trouble than it did.

Thomas never understood how she could be so easy-going, yet determined to make friends; his patients were unconscious, so he didn’t have to develop a bedside manner. Martha seemed to remember everyone she had ever met, their names, hobbies and families. She wrote letters to the ones abroad, sent out Christmas cards every year and remembered more birthdays than there were days in the year. Thomas doesn’t doubt that if it hadn’t been for her insistence on befriending the moody boy he’d been, he wouldn’t be married today. Martha was aggressively friendly, as soon as she walked into a room she was already restructuring everything around her. Gotham high society was every bit as vicious and cruel as a medieval king’s court; before he met her Thomas didn’t know how literal the phrase ‘win friends’ was. It was not easy to be charming enough to subtly nudge others in the direction you want them to go, waiting with a kind smile and a shoulder to cry on as they spilled their secrets into your ears. She manipulated everyone, for their own good, and they thanked her for it.

Thomas wishes he could manipulate people as easily as she did, but he did much better with the numbers. Waynes had been book-keepers for years, working with the numbers was in his blood. Martha had said she was jealous of how he made the numbers dance, but Thomas always thought she was the more skilled one. Sometimes he thought he married her to have someone who was likable on his side...

The doorbell rings, a deep, solemn and stately chime echoing through the halls.

“Excuse me, I’ll get that.” Martha says, pushing her chair out from the table as she stands.

Thomas rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a small fond smile.

“Honestly Martha, what’s the point of having a butler if you insist on getting the door yourself?” He asks.

“Because I only clean under duress, darling.” Martha replies. “You two try to get along without me.”

She smiles to herself as she makes her way to the door. Alfred is already there, wearing rubber gloves with an apron around his waist to protect his clothes. He is frowning at the acned delivery boy.

“I assure you, there was no order from this address…” He says before Martha strides forwards.

“Is there a smiley face on the box?” She demands to know, folding her arms and pouting.

Alfred sighs and checks.

“.... Yes.” He says.

“Then it’s mine. Thank you Derrick dear.” She says, paying the order in cash then adding a hundred as a tip. “Towards your car.” She says. “I know we’re not on your usual delivery route.”

The teen beams.

“Thanks, Mrs. Wayne.” He says. “It’s no trouble honestly.”

“Then take it for luck.” Martha replies as she takes the boxes. “Oh, and pass my good wishes on to Lucy.”

“I will Mrs Wayne. Have a good night.” The delivery boy says.

“And you too dear.” Martha replies and closes the door.

Alfred sighs.

“Mistress Martha _please_ inform me before you do something like this.” He frowns. “If you were hungry I could easily have made...”

“Oh hush.” Martha interrupts him. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you. That, and I didn’t want to miss out on the look on your face.” She adds impishly and puts a tin-foil wrapped package in his hands. “I got your favorite ~” She says in a singsong tone and Alfred smiles in fond exasperation.

“Don’t think this lets you off the hook.” He says as he takes the package. “We will be having words once I am done cleaning and our guest is settled.”

Martha takes the rest of the takeout containers into the kitchen, where she finds Thomas and the gargoyle observing each other with cool caution. She sighs internally at the foolish pride of boys. She loved her husband dearly, but he could be more stubborn than a brace of mules. He had a reputation for being cold and severe, but that was just the way he was raised, she knew that he was a very tender loving man when he wasn’t being made afraid of his own feelings. You still couldn’t get him to make civil conversation if you had a knife to his throat, not when he didn’t want to. It was just his way. Martha smiles. A thousand year old stone statue has come to life in their living room and he was acting as cool as a cucumber. That was her always reliable husband.

Martha smiles sweetly and sets a meal before each of them.

The gargoyle observes them and observes the takeout bowl. With care it picks up the plastic fork between two claws. It is clearly the first time it has held one. It takes care to spear a meatball on the end of it before taking a delicate bite. There is a crunch and the fork emerges with its tines missing. The gargoyle frowns.

“Use your fingers if you’re having trouble dear, this isn’t the time to fuss about table manners.” Martha says kindly. “Can you handle garlic or are all those vampire stories true?”

“I am not vampire.” The gargoyle says, pronouncing it like ‘vam-peer'.

“Have some cheesy garlic bread then dear.” Martha says cheerfully, handing him the extra one she ordered. “You’re supposed to eat it with your hands.”

The gargoyle snorts but takes it. It takes a large bite and curls a pointed tongue over its fangs as the cheese sticks to them in strings. It gnashes its jaws to try and clean the sticky cheese from them before swallowing.

“Let’s get you caught up.” Martha says.

As they cover a sizable slice of human history the food slowly disappears. There is a lot to cover, Thomas takes over the more technical side, if only so Martha will remember to eat. He has a better head for remembering the wars, who annexed who and the trade agreements, his father had drummed respect for the family history into him, whereas Martha made good use of her minor in art history to keep him caught up on the cultural and political side. Both of them cover the medical and technological advances with precision and care. Between them they cover a lot of human history efficiently enough.

Though the gargoyle’s face is solemn the twitching of his tail betrays his curiosity. Thomas finds himself relaxing as the air between them becomes less of doctor and patient and more teacher and student. The gargoyle’s speech and knowledge base were both archaic but he was a quick learner and, if Thomas can be honest, quite inventive as well. Despite the creature’s intimidating physique it also has an understanding of basic engineering principles and shows him a few examples of his craft. Thomas resolves to ask Lucius to examine them later, if nothing else he could have the things carbon dated, and if they had a chemical base rather than a magical one they might be profitable recreated. As the talk draws on and the leftovers grow cold the gargoyle seems to get stiller and more distant. As they discuss the modern world the gargoyle remains mostly quiet with its wings folded tight around its chest. Its inhuman face becomes hard and unreadable as stone. Occasionally it will ask a quiet question to clarify a point but otherwise it receives the information in a solemn silence. Eventually even Martha’s enthusiasm peters out. Silence falls.

The creature slowly stands from the table and speaks what has been on its mind for some time.

“In all your tales you never mentioned gargoyles.” The winged creature says. “I…am alone here. The last of my kind.”

“I haven’t heard of gargoyles, _living_ gargoyles, outside of urban legend.” Thomas tells it. “But if they are anywhere they will be here. If there is a safe haven for gargoyles to remain in hiding it is in Gotham.”

He gestures through the window to where the lights of the city are a glow on the horizon.

“The architect that designed the city demanded a gargoyle on every rooftop.” Thomas says. “He said they would watch over the city and protect it from evil, they say he was mad, but now I wonder if he simply knew something we do not...”

The gargoyle rests his forehead against the window.

“I must go to the city.” He says.

“When you’re healed dear, there is much you still have to learn.” Martha says.

The gargoyle’s eyes narrow. Martha puts a hand on its shoulder.

“I promise you an entire population of gargoyles won’t pop in or out of existence just because you’ve waited a week.” She says. “There are a lot of dangers out there that you’re not ready for. I couldn’t bear it if you ended up being hurt because you weren’t prepared.” She uses the particular tone and puppydog look she uses on Thomas whenever she was trying to guilt him out of doing something and the gargoyle doesn’t seem to be able to resist it either.

It sighs and turns away from the window.

“Very well, my lady.” It says.

“ _Martha._ ” She corrects. “There’s no need to stand on ceremony, dear. You’re a guest.”

The massive creature looks lost and confused. Its wings twitch as if it is considering taking flight to escape its problems.

“I am…a stranger in a strange land.” It says. “I am grateful for your kindness Lady Martha.”

Martha lets ‘Lady’ slide this time.

“Let’s get you settled in dear. There’s plenty of rooms we don’t use; you can take your pick of one.”

The gargoyle looks worried.

“That isn’t needed, I can rest on the roof.” It rumbles. “It is all that is required.”

“Nonsense dear, you are a guest here.” Martha says firmly. “You’re injured, in more ways than one, and lost. You need a place to call your own, if only so you have a home to come back to. We certainly have no shortage of space!”

“I do not wish to impose my lady.” The gargoyle says with a bow of its head.

“Listen here Mr Gargoyle.” She says with a pout and pauses half way through her sentence. “I can’t just call you ‘gargoyle’ all the time, it’s so dehumanizing!”

“I am not human.” The gargoyle points out.

“Impersonal then.” Martha says and rolls her eyes. “Would you mind terribly if I gave you a name?”

The gargoyle gives a shrug of indifference.

“Bruce then.” She decides.

The gargoyle dips his head.

“Very well my lady.” It says graciously.

“Martha…” Thomas says softly and rests a hand below her stomach. “He’s not going to replace the one we lost.”

He feels the pain before he sees the slap. His head jerks to the side with the force of it with his skin burning at the site of impact.

“How dare you Thomas Wayne.” Martha is trembling with rage. “How _dare._ Get down on your knees and I _may_ forgive you.”

“Christ, Martha I’m sorry.” Thomas says.

“ _Knees._ ” Martha insists.

Thomas kneels in front of her and bows his head.

“I’m sorry.” He says.

Martha lays a hand on his hair.

“You are forgiven.” She says coldly. “For now, but we are going to have a long talk about this later.”

“I have bought discord into your household.” The gargoyle says sadly. Its wings curl tighter around defensively hunched shoulders. It looks a second away from taking flight into the Gotham night as to not darken their door any longer.

“It’s not your fault dear, you didn’t know.” Martha tells him without taking her eyes off her husband. “ _Thomas_ should know better than to be so indelicate, but seeing as he has…”

Martha draws in a deep breath.

“...We lost a child recently. A boy, the second one we’ve lost.” She says in a clipped, detached tone that is unlike her usual warmth. “He never even got to be born.”

“...I am sorry for your loss.” The gargoyle says quietly but sincerely. “In my clan...there were times when an egg does not hatch. It is a sad time.”

“My husband thinks I am making you into a surrogate child because I want to replace him.” Martha continues with her tone cold and Thomas winces. “He hasn’t considered that maybe I want to save someone while they _can_  still be saved.”

“Martha, I...” Thomas starts to say and Martha silences him with a finger over his lips.

“I know.” She says and pulls him back to his feet. “Sometimes the world isn’t as simple as you think it is. Doesn’t this prove it?” She gestures to the gargoyle.

Thomas sighs.

“You’re right Martha, as always.” He says.

Martha smiles a delicate little smile.

“And don’t you forget it.” She says and delicately tugs at his chin. Thomas obligingly leans down and lets her kiss him.

“I love you Tommy.” She says.

“I love you too Mars.” He replies and wraps his arms around her shoulders.

As Martha hugs him back Thomas meets the gargoyle’s eyes. ‘ _If you hurt her, I will kill you’_ He says without words. ‘ _I know._ ’ The gargoyle silently replies.

As he releases the hug Thomas brushes the hair back from Martha’s forehead and places a kiss on it.

“Stay safe my love.” He says softly.

“You worry too much.” Martha tells him. “This world isn’t all black and white.”

Thomas sighs.

“Apparently not.” He says and fixes the newly named gargoyle with an icy glare. “Bruce, I do not like the unknown.” Thomas says bluntly. “I am a man of medicine; the unknown is dangerous in my profession. I’m still waiting to see if you are malignant or benign. Then I will make my diagnosis and if necessary operate to remove the cause of the problem, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes my lord.” The gargoyle says solemnly.

“Then we are agreed.” Thomas says firmly. “You can have the attic, we never use it for anything and there’s plenty of space. This way.”

He sets off towards the attic, with the winged creature following close behind, Martha comfortingly holding its hand to reassure it. Thomas pointedly does not look back as he walks. As much as he hates having such an unknown factor so close to home, he would also hate to have such an interesting specimen somewhere he couldn’t observe it. A gargoyle, a real flesh-and-blood gargoyle, was an opportunity too fascinating to pass up.

Already he is mentally planning the next few days. The attic would need to be renovated for its new inhabitant. The gargoyle would need food, clothes and bedding. Books would need to be provided for the gargoyle’s education and entertainment. Some form of observational equipment would need to be set up, as well as a way for the gargoyle to contact them while they were out. There were the coins to be tested, valued and invested. He had some of the gargoyle’s monster-hunting equipment to show Lucius, he should be able to whip up a few upgrades and the principles behind the belt storage system as the gargoyle had explained them _should_ translate to modern materials. He has one of the gargoyle’s thrown spines to test, and some biologists he had trust with the task of finding out what it is made of. A few bribes at the police station should get him every report of strange sightings and property damage that might point to gargoyle habitation in the city. After that there was research to do; both on gargoyles and magic in general. He needed all the books on animate gargoyles he could find, then whatever he could find on dark mages and curses, and he would have to filter that down further to what was _true_...Oh, and he still couldn’t neglect his work, surgeons seldom had much free time to begin with. He couldn’t neglect his social obligations either, the Elliots would only accept the snub for so long. It was an implicit social contract; the Waynes attended high society functions and the socialites agreed to donate to charity. As dull as he found the functions and their attendants the charities needed that money.

He would just have to make it work.

Thomas pushes open the door to the attic. The dark space is lined by wooden beams like the ribcage of the manor itself. There is even furniture still, things that had been shifted out of main rooms according to the tastes of previous Waynes.

The gargoyle steps in, its leathery wings twitching, and looks around. It examines the space closely, showing careful attention to the things it has not seen, such as an old-fashioned TV, record player and radio. Thomas is put in mind of a cat in a new house, trying to appear calm and in control but ready to run and hide at the first sign of trouble.

“Will it do?” Thomas asks it.

“Very well my lord.” The gargoyle sounds satisfied. It rests a hand on a bookshelf. “I see there is much to learn.”

“I will consult with the wizard.” Thomas says. “Things can be bought to you, but you must remain in the house and out of sight. If you leave I cannot guarantee a warm welcome should you return. It would probably break Martha’s heart.”

The gargoyle thumps a fist over its heart in a salute.

“Understood Lord Thomas.”

The doctor sighs and stifles a yawn, resolving to give the situation a proper assessment when his mind was free of the haze of tiredness. There was little enough time left in the night before he had to be up and ready to return to the hospital. He leaves the attic without a backwards glance or a goodbye. Martha lingers at the side of the gargoyle even after her husband has left.

“I fear Lord Thomas does not like me.” The gargoyle rumbles.

“Oh, that’s just his way.” Martha tells him. “Sometimes I think I married him because my act needed a straight man. Trust me, he’s rather fond of you under all that ice. You remind me of him in a lot of ways, you know.”

“I do?” the gargoyle asks with his tone curious.

Martha nods.

“Uh-huh, I’m sure there’s a warm fuzzy heart under that macho grizzled exterior.” She says teasingly as she lays her hand on the gargoyle’s chest.

The gargoyle snorts in disbelief and Martha grins.

“You will be alright on you own won’t you?” She asks him.

The gargoyle nods.

“Soon the sun will rise and I will sleep.” He says. “Already it is on the horizon.”

The gargoyle points with one claw out one of the small windows. There is a strip of lighter blue on the skyline, with an even thinner strip of yellow gold sunlight.

“Sunrise already? How the time flies when you’re having fun.” Martha says and yawns. “I should head to sleep soon too...”

The gargoyle’s wings twitch as he seems to consider something.

“Before you do my lady...” the gargoyle says and drops to one knee. “I pledge my life to you and the defence of your home and family.” He says solemnly. “I am lost, you give me purpose to strive towards. For that I am eternally in your debt.”

“Bruce...” Martha says softly.

“I failed to protect my home once. I will not fail again.” The gargoyle pledges.

He rises from his kneeling position and strides towards the window. Dust billows up as he pulls it open with a screech of rasping wood.

“Bruce, what are you doing out there?” Martha asks as the gargoyle steps out onto the tiles and turns to face the horizon.

“Greeting the sun.” The gargoyle replies as it stands with its wings spread, looking protectively down over the courtyard of the manor towards the city on the horizon.

Faster than non-gargoyles expected, day breaks. As the sunlight sweeps down his form the gargoyle closes his eyes and relaxes as its grey skin crackles and hardens, leaving him a silent but watchful guardian of stone once again.


End file.
